Flashlight
by AkaiShinda
Summary: Alfred Jones was a fireman until he finds two exploded aliens in a house. Because of his stubborn nature, the agent forces him to lose all his memories about the evening, and about meeting him as well. After figuring this out, Alfred starts his new life, dedicating to find this agent, and find the truth as well. MIb AU
1. Chapter 1

Start

Everything started on a gloomy Saturday night in October, with a gas explosion in the suburbs while Alfred F. Jones was about to end his shift. When the call arrived and he jumped for his helmet to put it on and run to the huge red truck to climb in, he didn't expect exactly what he saw later. The street was silence when the truck turned in with incredibly light red flashes, and no one was on the streets. Not even a police car, and this was already strange. Normally a lot of passengers and citizens stand by the dangerous buildings which are (or at least used to be in flames), and now, that was missing too. Alfred frowned, and almost let himself think, maybe this time they won't have to fight with enthusiastic volunteers to run in the building and look for the survivors. This time... everything was different.

It was only him, and three other fellows on the truck, since it was only a small family house. As everyone knew, only an old woman and his husband had lived there, now their house was exploded, but not in flames, and there were no signs of gas in the air either, shown by the special machines. Alfred sighed and just shook his head. His colleagues bit their mouths and shrugged, or just shook their heads, telling him like that, no one wanted to enter that old building. Oh, well, this happened before, and Alfred would do anything to protect a citizen, no matter the cost of it. He cleared his throat and put on the oxygen mask and slowly, with careful steps, entered on the blasted doorway, which was black from the ashes, but... he felt something strange there. He didn't see the signs of flames on the walls, and the kitchen was perfectly... black. No ashes on the walls at all, the glasses in the windows were still there, and he didn't smell burning clothes or wooden materials. What the hell was that, he had no idea, so he turned on the radio to contact the others. "Guys, I dunno what happened here. No signs of gas explosion, no sign of burning. I don't see any person in here."

"Go on, maybe upstairs." Said a young male voice, he didn't dare to recognize the owner, so he quickly checked the kitchen and the living room, then headed upstairs on the old, creaking steps. Now he smelled it. That was the burning flesh, clothes, but no smoke and no actual flame? Acid?! He reached to his oxygen mask and calmed himself for a couple of second. He had the mask on. He was safe. The old, retired couple had no trace or whatsoever in the house. He didn't see pictures of grandchildren or books, and everything looked extremely tidy. When he checked the bathroom upstairs, he sighed in relief as he said on the radio too, he didn't see anyone in there. Then the bedroom came, and as he approached and got closer to it step by step, he felt something growing in his stomach, a kind of nausea or frustration, like his bones, his core of existence would shout to him from inside, to run away from that place and don't even look back on it, just run, escape, get far away...

Alfred slowly opened the door with one hand, the other holding the hammer up beside his head, ready to hit, or to hold up the wood of the door. His eyes widened, and he couldn't breath for a couple of seconds until his brain created the explanation of the picture which laid in front of him.

Aliens.

. . .

"Holy shit!" He shouted, and backed off to the wall of the corridor, then caught to his heart and calmed down his breathing. Both were dead already, they were blasted, they exploded, and now everything in the room was sort of... melting in their acid, which could be their blood before... He couldn't wipe his eyes because of the mask, and he barely made his way to the door again, to look inside. Yes. They had dark blue blood, which was on the ceiling, the floor, the double-seized bed and the tv... "What the..." This acid wasn't just disgusting because of the intestines which were all over the room, but what Alfred actually saw on the floor was an eyeball, big like his fist. And he was a big guy, 5,7 feet tall, and because of his job he had a few muscles on his body. The eyeball was purple with a red circle inside it, and if Alfred wouldn't be shocked by the sight, he would have said, it was looking at him, but as he moved a bit, around one foot left, the eyeball followed his movements.

This dark blue liquid was thick and maybe a kind of glue, because there were no drops on the floor beneath the ceiling, just where they hit it at the time of the explosion. The acid started its work around that time, eating up the clothes and the wood, and... the bones? There were no bones in the room at all, just the fluid substance. Aliens. Goddamn aliens... this is not a gas explosion, and he had no idea what to do with the mess the strangers made. He couldn't even tell that, was it dangerous for the area, or just leave it there to dry? He wasn't sure, to wash it up with water, or light it with a match?

"Alfred, come down. FBI is here."

"On my way." He answered quickly, but shot a glance to the destroyed room again. The floor, which was above the living room started to burn and melt at the same time, which meant that the wooden structure of the building got weaker in this short period of time, and it will get worse. He made a small note in his head to warn the FBI agents about it, when he spot the eyeball again. The red colour switched to yellow. He frowned and tilted his head on the left, and just thought.. "Bomb?"

Alfred Jones jumped back to the corridor again and the eyeball rolled after him, so his panic got bigger than before: he practically screamed and jumped down on the whole line of the stairs, but he felt the big, cold ball on his back. He felt his whole body shaking in fright and from essential panic. Throwing the gas mask off his face, he started getting off the fire-fighter jacket too, which was a horrible idea in itself since the eyeball started melting its way through the fabric, and nearly reached his skin as well. He struggled his left arm out and grabbed the right side of the jacket to throw it off, when all of a sudden, the eyeball was lifted from his back, and he smelled smoke of cigarette in his nose. He didn't dare to move however he was shaking. The sound of an egg breaking could be heard as behind him, the eyeball was finally neutralized, and the creature behind him blew the smoke out, right to the nape of his neck.

There he was, almost squatting on the ground, still holding his jacket in his left fist, his gas mask in front of him on the floor, a mighty protector of the citizens of New York.

"You can stand up, you know." The calm, masculine voice said behind him, and as Alfred finally straightened his back and collected all his bravery to look on his saviour, he felt his jaw dropped. A man in a perfect, black suit with black tie, black trousers and shiny black leather shoes stood in front of him, wiping the dark blue liquid from his palm, cigarette in the right corner of his mouth, and when he realized Alfred's stare, he looked up. "What, luxury to say 'thank you'?"

"Aaa..."

"Don't worry, just a second." The man hummed and reached for his pocket on the right, and took out a silver, small device which was thick like two fingers on Alfred's hand, and it had a small red lamp on the top of it. "Please look in the red spot."

"Why?"

"Because I said so, wanker."

"You just saved my life."

"Wow, congratulations."

"Who are you?"

The man, showing the signs of being tired and weary of the whole conversation, just shrugged and ordered him to look in the light again.

"What, luxury to tell your department, agent?"

"Not you business, fireman. You are useless in this case anyway."

"Maybe I'm not. The building is getting weaker, the whole bedroom upstairs is soaked in the acid, we should get out of here before the roof will fall on our head with the substance, and you can flash with your... " he made a lazy wave with his hand towards the silver device "stick of yours, outside. Also, there are no living creatures in the house except us."

"Oh, are you sure in that?" Alfred frowned at the weird pronunciation of the word 'sure', but he nodded.

"I checked all of the rooms inside. The garden in the back I didn't have time, yet, but that doesn't belong to the term 'in the house', if I'm right."

"You didn't check those who you can't see with your eyes. Human."

Alfred could feel his eyes widen as he looked in the green eyes, and saw the malevolent grin on the man's face. The blood from his face ran off as he took a deep breath, considering running away again, when the man raised the silver device again.

"Now, if you may, look in this red spot."

"Oh, no, you won't hypnotize me, bastard!" And he punched the blond man in the face in a second, then grabbed his tie and pulled him back to knock him out right there, when the wood above their head creaked, and Alfred saw a crack running from the left to the middle... small stones fell from above, so he just grabbed the blond man by his suit to throw him out of the door to jump after him. The ceiling of the living room fell with a loud noise and a huge amount of smoke and dust, so both of them coughed before Alfred raised the hammer from his utility-belt, and the man raised his gun, targeting him with it, almost half meter away from him.

"I hope you are happy now." The agent said.

"I saved your goddamn life before you killed me. Luxury to say thank you?"

"Bugger off, and hold your hands up as you stand up."

"What's your problem, dude?"

"Would you just shut up and look in this red spot already?"

"Just if you tell me your department, and the purpose of this silver stick in your hand."

"Oh, shut up."

Alfred literally closed his eyes. "Deal with this."

He could hear the other man curse under his nose, when he realized an other... more disturbing fact. Silence.

As he opened his eyes for a blink, he didn't see the truck of the fire-brigade. No one was there from the guys. Nothing. Not even the equipment, it was cleared away, and only a pure black Mercedes stood on the road, and in this short amount of time, he couldn't figure out the type. "Where are the others?"

"They obeyed, looked in the red spot, and went home safe. You are the only one I'm struggling with, and the first, too."

"Tell me. What's gonna happen if I look in that light?"

"You're the worst, why don't you trust me for two seconds, I saved your life! If I wanted to leave you there, drowning in the eye of the Kilpanodean, I would-.."

"The what?"

"Bloody wanker, just watch in the light, open your eyes! Now!"

Alfred forced his eyes shut even fiercely than before, even turned his face away, when the cellphone of the agent in front of him rang, and the man picked it up in the split of the second. "On my way, Omega." He paused for a bit, then hissed and cursed for a shot period of time, and as Alfred carefully and slowly opened his eyes to see the person, he saw the man frowning and shaking his head a bit. "I did it, it's done, but I'm stuck with a dumbass American."

"Hey!"

"He just can't open his eyes, and he has contact lenses."

"How did you—"

"Silence, idiot, I'm talking on my cellphone if you couldn't... " The blond agent's eyes widened and flashed the device quickly, but Alfred shut his eyes and covered his face with his hand when he saw the purpose, so the black clothed man simply shot a flashing light in the night uselessly. "Seriously!"

"I'm getting tired of this shit, agent, tell me the reason why you have to flash that stick in my face right now, or I swear I'm gonna throw you into that blue pond in the house!"

"Do not dare to shout with me, you arrogant idiot, and if you would let me do my job—"

"Which is?"

"You have no right to ask this from me!"

What followed was absolutely unexpected. The smaller and thinner man grabbed Alfred's jaw with such strength that the fireman's eyes widened and he couldn't catch his breath for a second, when the agent raised the device and flashed the pure white light in his skull.

A couple of minutes later, Alfred Jones found himself on the ground, laying and having a serious headache. He couldn't see much things, his eyes were hurting bad, and he couldn't find his balance as he tried to stand up. He didn't drink any alcohol, that was his first thought.

He seemed to lose the memories of the last fifteen minutes. All, because of a flashlight.


	2. Chapter 2

Two, maybe three hours later Alfred found his way home, opened the door with trembling hands and stumbled to the kitchen table... which was two meters farm from him. He had to support himself on both hands to stand with opened legs and shaking knees. His brain was reeling and he couldn't find a stable point albeit he sat down and held his head with both of his hands. All he could see was a flashing white light and dark patches, an unfamiliar house and a strange blond man in dark clothes.

A couple of minutes later he vomited his dinner in the toilet.

He had no idea what happened, but called his boss to tell he got sick somehow, and he didn't know how. Before the last mission everything was perfectly fine, and then he found himself having the worst migraine he had ever in his life? All the other colleagues were fine, it was only him, the leader told him, and he frowned a bit, then of course, held on the toilet's edge again. It took a couple of seconds to calm his breathing before he could actually say a few words.

"No, they are at home just like you. Their reports are on my table too, it's just yours which is missing, Jones."

"But... how come that it's only me, and they left me there..."

"In their reports they said that you stayed to wait for the police's arrival."

"There were no policemen, Mr. Taylor, no one was around!"

The leader of their group remained silent for some time. "Alfred, maybe you need to rest."

"No, I'm sure, there were no citizens around, and no policemen at all!"

"You are opposing your colleagues right now, Jones, and you make no sense at all. Maybe you hit your head or..."

"I didn't hit my head, I... I remember the silence and there was no fire at all at the place Mr. Taylor, and the guys stayed outside!"

"They wrote completely different things in their documents."

He sat back on his heels and wiped his mouth with the toilet paper. "All the three of them?"

"Yes, Jones. They explained the gas explosion and the.."

"There was no gas explosion! Not even the sign of gas, or fire at all, the building..."

"Jones, calm down please. You have to relax for a couple of days and clear your head from this nonsense you're talking right now."

He rubbed his temple and sighed. Well. Looks like he is the only one who experienced these weird things, and the guys must be scared to write down anything? They must remember something, since he cannot. All he could recall was the way to the building, and until the moment that...

He looked up to the wall in front of him, and without explanation just ended the phone call and put the device into his pocket. He caught one line of memory, a feeling from the inside. Alfred, from a sudden notion just grabbed his right shoulder and gasped as he felt the memory of a heavy thing on his back, then the scene changed in his head. There was someone else in the house. There must have been someone else as well. That's the part, when the black patches and the huge whiteness came, and he closed his eyes to take some deep and calm breaths, not to vomit again. What the hell happened there? It was a mistake to come home, after all, now he wanted to go back to the house and check it... the police must have cleared the ashes and the ruins away...

Who was that person behind him? He tried to force his brain as much as he could, pressing the same question to himself again and again, until he could dig out an other picture from somewhere deep. Black suit. A man, in a black suit, with light blond hair. That is all, and then his head ached so hard that he practically fell on his side and grabbed his hair in pain. A man in a black suit, a man in a black suit, his brain repeated is over again until he tilted his head back and sat up to stumble his way to the kitchen and find the strongest painkiller he had in his flat. His brain and his body told him to sleep, to relax and try to forget everything, but somehow he couldn't find peace even in his bed, holding the blanket tight around himself.

The guys wrote a huge lie in their reports. Why did they lie? They beat him up, or was it someone else? Is he beaten up, anyways? What is that pure white light? The man in black? Is it true that they exist?

What was that thing on his back? What was a citizen doing in the house, and why weren't the others helping him, keeping the man out from the dangerous zone? Where were they?

Questions overwhelmed him until he finally shook his head and told himself loud to stop it. He decided, that however he made a fool of himself in front of his boss, the next day he wanted to go in the office and check the reports of the others. He wasn't hallucinating, and wasn't crazy or mad. He knew these things happened, he felt it and not just inside of his head because his fireman-jacket had a weird, dark blue circle on the middle of its back. Something was there, and the man in the black suit did something. He must be the key of that night.

Alfred wasn't a person who let things just go on their way. If he didn't know something, or couldn't find it out himself, he would chase the thing until he got what he wanted. Now, as he sat up in his bed again, to drink a glass of water, he decided his next steps. First, checking the reports, then drawing the man the best he could, scan it and trying to find a copy of it on the internet. He wanted to find this person. It wasn't a wise idea to go back to the suburbs and check the place again; the government takes care of these secretive things fast. But he didn't know the reason why he felt, this all is secretive. Something from inside told him, and he found it weird, but it sounded absolutely logical.

Something, someone wiped his memories. Maybe ten minutes, or less. This was not a normal evening or case, or anything. This was not normal.

Of course, no one would believe him, and he prepared himself to read absolute lies the next day on the papers, and he would have to admit, yes he was tired and maybe he watched too many horror movies lately. He would have to apologize for simply ending the call with his boss, but later, after the next 24-72 shift, he would be able to draw that picture, or simply start looking around on the internet. The urban legend which was always so tempting to believe was now in front of him. The men in black.

. . .

Exactly three days later, after he made his way back to his flat again, Alfred took a short shower, had proper dinner, and sat down at the kitchen table with a piece of paper and a pen. The man had blond, short hair, and green eyes. He wasn't taller than him for sure, and he had pale complexion. Black suit, white shirt and black bowtie. With the picture done, he turned to his scanner and after a couple of minutes he coloured the picture with his laptop, painting the man's hair blond, and his eyes green like the forest. Still, he had no idea where to post the picture, or to publish it even. People would call him a freak.

He wanted to give a name to the man, but again, he didn't know anything about him... judging his age, he couldn't be older than thirty. By look... he was Caucasian, thin, and... weird.

Alfred looked up from the screen and shook his head. There was something missing from the picture he drew, so he frowned and hummed, but for minutes which felt like hours, he couldn't figure out exactly...

Wiping his eyes from casual exhaustion, Alfred closed his eyes and yawned, when finally he decided to let his hands wander on the picture, and let his unconscious draw the missing part...

The eyebrows.

But what huge, strong eyebrows. Those should be blond as well, eh, if the person's natural hair colour was blond, the eyebrow colour should be the same? This looked a bit ridiculous.

This whole struggle wasn't leading nowhere. He didn't know any website which wouldn't call him mad or maniac, and he didn't have a friend who would actually believe what he experienced. The boss wanted to send him to a psychologist and give him two weeks off. Like he needed that...?

Was he... is he really... seeing this, or just imagining? What if the others were right and he needed professional help, Xanax and two weeks of travelling to clear his head, and get ready to work again? To protect citizens from any kind of harm, and saving them from burning houses needed clear thoughts, and concentration. If he fails in the smallest task because of these visions, he would be the cause of an accident, or worse. No, this couldn't happen. He had to make up his mind and be ready for every possible case, that's why his training took three long years.

For quite a long time, he decided to forget what happened, and tried to get back into his daily routine. He put the drawing under a huge pile of folders beside his kitchen table and went to sleep, not even caring about the new episode of his favourite series. No one would believe him. Not even his friends, that shit sounds too paranormal, and ridiculous as well, however he was sure this wasn't his imagination. His only proof was the huge dark blue splotch on the back of his jacket but it would be childish to put it on the boss' table and claim he was right. And, what after this? It wouldn't solve anything, just prove his dominance like he was an immature animal.

He had to find the key, which was the person he saw before. Normally if someone sees an other person, this doesn't burn that hard into his or her memories, and Alfred could clearly remember the shape of his face, the design of his hair, and the eyebrows? This cannot be called natural either. He remembered only flashes or pictures... and after a certain point, nothing, just whiteness. Alfred sat up in his bed after 3 am, and decided to go out and have some fresh air, but this didn't help. Now, he had insomnia for days, and the whole thing started with that night. Maybe he needed professional help?

He would lose his job, if the psychologist says he is mad. If the case is worse, they put him into an asylum and he would have to pick medicines which would transform his brain into a bubbling pink gum, so he wouldn't think about investigations.

Investigations. Alfred chuckled at the thought. Investigating the person's identity in the police's database, this sounded much more logical. He had to get into the police station and have access to a computer inside, scan the picture or send it to them for analysis. Of course, as if the police would actually tell him the identity of a man in a black suit. Even if Alfred would lie to them, and just ask a simple identity and deny the feature of the black suit, if they find the person in their database and match it with the picture, he wouldn't get the real answer.

Looks like he is alone.

His head started to ache at four in the morning, and didn't stop until the next evening, till ten. The medicine he took before lost its effect, now he couldn't find anything what would decrease the amount of pain and dizziness. At a certain point, laying in his bed and holding the blanket on his head, he understood his own body; it wanted him to get up, and go after the case, to investigate, to find this man, and get the answer, get the solution to make this all disappear, and to end this struggle. The white patches were started to dance in front of his eyes again around midnight.

"Fuck my life."

Alfred sighed before he admitted; he couldn't just stay in his tiny flat and kill his brain with useless assumptions, he got up and dressed up again, so ten minutes later he could drive off with his motorbike into the night. First he went back to the firehouse and checked the date and the exact place of the "gas explosion", then headed there to look around. It wasn't even dawn, so the street was quite dark and empty, but at least no one disturbed him as he left the motorbike at the pavement and stood for some minutes in front of the house. The government cleared the ruins and started to renovate it, so a new family would be able to move in, and because of that, a yellow cordon was built around the building. Alfred pouted at the thought of entering the place, but he didn't see any other option.

He saw traces of steps, a lot of people were here before for sure, but at the doorstep he froze and grabbed the wooden doorway. The dark blue splotch was on the floor, they tried to clean it up, but it was still there, just the same shade of blue as on his jacket. And he, the dumbass idiot, didn't bring his camera to make a picture about it, so he took his cellphone and switched on the flash.

That was a bad idea. At the second of the white light, his brain and his eyes started aching so bad, that he stumbled his way to the stairs and sat down, holding his head in his hands. For God's sake, he couldn't make a proper picture about the blob without flash, and his brain was denying this only option from him?! Before using the light again, he shut his eyes, and with an other hand, covered his face as well. From now on, he made tons of pictures about the steps, the bedroom (the floor was full of these dark blue traces just like the wall), and at one point about the wall downstairs, beside the doorway. Who knows?

What was that dark blue substance? Why did is occur at every place he remembered about the house? Where were the traces of the man?

When he arrived home, he checked the outdoor cameras of the street, and shook his head. He should have known the precious government better; they cut the recordings and copied an other, peaceful element of the night before... wait a second.

They cut the tape and put an other part of the night before there. It was the same bird flying at the very same direction, it could be seen clearly, and the very same car drove at the same direction. They cut it. Normally, with a natural arrival of the fire brigade who rake out the fire and take care of the gas piles, they leave it there. Another proof, that something unnatural happened.

Watching the scene over and over again, he couldn't figure out anything for half an hour, but then he frowned and stopped the screen. At one second, the black Mercedes was leaving the street with a weird shape of sack on the grass at the house, and then everything went back to normal. The scene was cut in the way, that he thought the Mercedes was passing by, but actually it was leaving. The sack was on the grass for maybe one second, then cut off, it disappeared.

"_That is me."_

Unfortunately he wasn't a computer expert, he couldn't zoom it properly to see the exact parts of his body, but at one point he could identify his arm.

That's it.

After the main shock, seeing himself broken on the screen of a street camera's recordings, he calmed himself down enough to think rationally (with a huge bottle of beer of course), and tried to identify the man as well. He could see his hands in the Mercedes, but no wristwatch... and the card of the car had been cleared as well. It would be a huge mistake of the government if they wouldn't wipe the numbers, yeah...

Maybe.. maybe he should try to look this person up on the internet.

Let the fun begin, he thought ten minutes later, with extra strong black coffee beside his laptop, as he typed in Google Search: man in black, blond hair. That didn't lead anywhere, considering all the portrays about girls hiding their breasts with their palms, smiling in the camera which is in their bedrooms. Where are their parents?

Models, hair commercials, shampoo and suit commercials, movies...

The hours flowed on the axis of time, he changed numerous variations of the expressions, it was past midnight, then suddenly two in the morning when he just shrugged, yawned and typed in the last variation he could think about.

'Agent man in black blond hair'

Movies... models... he scrolled down and sighed, blinking sleepily in front of the screen. The same stuff everywhere... sometimes dogs, but mainly celebrities and random pictures of websites. The discography of his favourite musician was playing for the third time, when he clicked on a picture about a man in the same uniform; black suit, white shirt, black tie, but this person had black sunglasses which followed the shape of his face, like a bicycle rider's protector glass, but this was absolutely black and shiny on the surface. The man was photographed in New York, at the 15th street. Even if it was far from here, Alfred tilted his head and frowned; the picture was on a forum dedicated to the maniacs about aliens and paranormal, supernatural activities, and this thread was about...

The fire-fighter straightened in the chair and blew the air out of his mouth.

The thread's title was: "Men in black, among us."

That's the place of the freaks, he thought, but as he scrolled down, he saw many other pictures about men in black suits, in this same uniform. One guy was totally beaten by something, his uniform was torn apart on several places, the other person was on the phone, getting out of a...

"Oh my..." Alfred caressed a mop of hair just above his forehead, the 'cowlick'. "That's the real shit."

Black Mercedes. The same type.

So, a couple of days ago he met an agent from the government, who dealt with alien business.

Awesome.

Homework for the rest of his life: find a supernatural case, go there, make it even more supernatural, and force this person out from the government's shelter.

For tonight, he smiled and registered for the forum, and made another coffee to scroll down on all of the pages of this certain thread and find a picture about this guy, if they had any.

A/N: Reviews are welcomed :)


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Everything has been an easy ride since his last 24/72, he could agree on that. He didn't faint anymore, he didn't feel dizzy and exhausted, all he had to do is avoid flashing, strong lights, and care about his own movements, to keep them slow and smooth. For the sake of fulfilling his tasks at hand, he had to sacrifice physical elegance, and as a consequence, others started calling him clumsy.

Even worse, that during the shifts, Alfred often found himself wondering about the man who was an agent, and somehow, made mistakes in his job because he remembered him. Without realizing his own action he became unfocused and careless often, but that didn't stop him from making assumptions.

The pure white light was a sign of something, and even if he couldn't find the meaning of it and this person was the reason behind the phenomenon. On the forum, the other users had talked about the white light as well, but they didn't remember the face of the agents. Well, Alfred did, and that was enough to think about himself, as a Chosen One. Like in an adventure movie... but this time, he wasn't sure about the ending.

. . .

Opposing his own colleagues seemed impossible; he read their papers more than five times and almost could recite them by heart; still he couldn't find any trace is supernatural feature. They wrote about the fire, the state of the building, keeping the area safe, and eliminating the fire, whatever, and each of them wrote that Alfred Jones stayed to explain the case to the arriving police officer.

Alfred was in a night-shift again, when he read Paul's report "just for one last time". He was sitting at his table, around two meters from the window, and the author of the document left only ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago, when Alfred tilted his head on the left (just like every time he found something interesting), and nearly hit his head in the keyboard in front of him.

What a stupid, ignorant ass he was. A silly, immature boy who doesn't know anything about investigating, he is blond, he has glasses, computer game nerd, all in all; loser.

The police officer. It was in single form, only one police officer arrived to the place of the gas explosion?! Normally there are around five or seven, now only one single guy from the station?! Without thinking, he trotted to the shelves behind Jack's table and took his report from the folders, just like Michael's, two minutes later. He found himself reading the same reports over and over again, it started to annoy him as well, but at this point, his eyes were hunting the paragraphs, to find the one about the policeman.

Like it was a policeman. They were told by the agent, that he was an officer? In that clothes?

Did the police officer appear, and the agent did later, when the guys left the place?

If the police officer had seen Alfred lying on the lawn, why didn't he help him? They are from the same field of occupations. He would have definitely helped him up from there.

When did he faint, when did he collapse on the grass? Did the agent hit him, or hurt him by any chance?

The boys wrote that the officer asked them a few questions, and then told them to take their departures (like in every official case, after stabilizing the area). He also told them that he will transport Jones back to the firehouse later, when he finished the audition about the state of the house before the fall. Why didn't they help Alfred up from the grass, why was it so urgent to send the firemen away? Questions, questions, leading up to one point.

His colleagues had been deceived.

"Hey, Mike?" He called his friend who sat in the other corner of the room, now the man looked up from his work and frowned as he saw Alfred at the stock of the reports again.

"Jones, you're like a maniac. What is it, now?"

"Do you remember how the police officer looked like?" Alfred tried not to sound too enthusiastic or suspicious, it was enough that the whole firehouse expected him to go crazy as the days went by...

"Which one?"

"October 25th. The gas explosion in Emerson street?"

"Well..." The middle-aged, already grey haired fireman leaned back in his chair, rolling his pen to the side of his table, and simply shrugged. "Dunno, he had black clothes, and... maybe sunglasses, yeah, that was weird, don't ask me."

"He wore sunglasses?" Alfred cleared his throat as he realized; he was being too excited about that single fact, so as if he tried to act cool, he sat on one of the tables and nodded.

"Yes he did. And... I think he was blond." The man stretched his arms before humming. "What else? Well, he arrived with a black Mercedes, class C. If you ask me, he wasn't in charge, just came by and saw the stuff so stopped to check everything. We told him that things are fine, and he said he will take you back."

"And at that time... do you know where I was?"

"Sure dude, he said, you were in the backyard, checking the garden."

_I wasn't in the garden... or... who knows._

. . .

Around two in the morning, he was done waiting. Mike was nearly sleeping at his table, watching an episode from a television show about space adventures, while Alfred was merely gazing out from his head. These were times in the firehouse, when nothing happened, and from one hand this was a good thing, but from the other hand, this was utterly boring and a way of wasting time, taken from the investigation. His own work was a drawback.

Half an hour later he went down to check the trucks, but of course to spend his time somehow, thinking about the lost time from his memories. It could be... around ten minutes. He didn't know exactly, and this was infuriating in itself, and not thinking about the fact, that his fellows lost even more than him, and they didn't even know about it. How does someone clear memories? This is in sci-fi movies, or in stuff with magic.

There has to be a way, but by himself, a grown up human man cannot do this to another person. There had to be a method, or a device to do that, or medicine, a drink... shaking his head, Alfred hummed and bit his index finger in confusion. The boys didn't remember for more than ten minutes, he lost less than ten. Maybe five. This thing, that caused this trauma can be set, somehow. The human brain is not a playground, or a computer, it cannot be programmed to lose random amounts of memories.

There had to be a device for that.

In the office, he turned the screen of the computer in such an angle that Mike couldn't see what he is doing, so that he could visit the forum about the aliens again. In the "Men in Black" section, there wasn't any thread about the solution of losing memories, but each and every person who claimed to had met these agents had similar symptoms. Except the piercing headache, and the sensitivity of flashing lights. Looks like his brain had been a bit... strongly modified. Still, he didn't know what to do with this piece of information, but it seemed to be a good idea to write it down, and send it to himself via email. Who knows?

Thinking about writing things down, Alfred decided to note every improvement or information about his progress, into his email account. He made a new folder for them too.

. . .

Several days had passed since that night in the firehouse, and nothing changed. He had to wear strong sunglasses in daylight to avoid the return of his headache. Judging from the harshness of pain, it wasn't just a temporary damage in his brain, and if he would turn to a doctor, they would suspend his status at work. Again, work stands in his way. He had to do something about that, sooner or later.

Not long after that, coming home from the apothecary with a new package of painkillers, Alfred sat down to check the forums with the agent pictures again, to look for some updates.

Asian type, short, black hair... Caucasian, shaggy brown hair, glasses... Black, sunglasses, short hair... black, with ice cream in his hands _ice creaaam..._ only men worked at this department? Caucasian, short blond hair, huge, strong body... Caucasian, white hair, pale complexion... and again, and again, no matches, nothing, nothing...

He leaned back and took a sip from his beer, and clicked, to go on the next page. Browsing these pictures became a regular habit of his, trusting the freaks about making a picture about...

His heart skipped a beat, and the visions came back immediately as he looked at the man's photo. Shaggy, blond hair, white complexion, not skinny but slim shape, eyebrows.

His head started aching, so he shut his eyes for some seconds before opening them again, and check his own drawing, and compare it. Somehow he missed something from both of the pictures, so as he scrolled down to the additional information about the man, he sighed. The owner of the photo added:

'He smoked cigars and didn't take off his glasses the whole time. He stayed there for ten minutes, as if he was waiting for something to happen, then crossed the street towards 46st street and left. We tried to follow him, but couldn't, he was too fast. This is not a fake. 51st street West, 6 Ave corner.'

He had a brown stick in his mouth which was smoking but it wasn't a cigarette, it was...

Cigar. That's why he smelled cigars when he came home that night...? Or... that's why his memories always brought the smell of cigar back all the time?

The picture was taken in New York. Yesterday.

New York is not a place someone just drives to, without planning. He had to arrange accommodation, talk it over with his boss, explain it to his landlord, and look up the exact place where the picture was taken. That is in the middle of New York. A couple of moments later he was on Google Earth, checking the view of the whole street, and he didn't understand. His agent was standing on the corner for ten minutes, then simply left to a street which had several trees, therefore, shadows. Not this, but another fact was still strange.

The other agents were on their phones, getting into their cars (all black Mercedes C class) or discussing with other agents (usually they were photographed in pairs). They all did something, but this one? And this is the first picture he saw about him, so far. He must be busy, always in office, or hiding really well.

There was nothing to do here in his flat anymore. In New York though...

He started packing right then. Jumper, the jacket of his father, dog tags, Converse, three pants in case, two socks, one pack of painkillers, money in the pocket, and his purse. By his motorbike he can be there in less than a day; making photos about the place, walk around the same length of street and observe every bit. As time passes, he is losing traces.

Calling in sick would be almost believable, despite the fact that he hasn't felt this energetic long ago, but his boss said okay anyway, two days off are acceptable, but he ordered him to visit a doctor if nothing changes afterwards. If he won't get a step forward in the investigation, he'll need more time to get a new picture about the agent... this is the chance he can't miss.

Reviews are welcomed 3 Please tell me what you think about the flow of the story, I'm interested in your opinions. Also, if you find something ungrammatical, please don't hesitate to tell me! English is not my first language and I don't have beta.


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